Faults and Figures
by mandaree1
Summary: Your name is Smoke (Smoky, technically) Quartz. You're defective, but functional. If only they let you feel that way.
**Disclaimer: I don't own Steven Universe!**

 **Title: Faults and Figures**

 **Summary: Your name is Smoke (Smoky, technically) Quartz. You're defective, but functional. If only they let you feel that way.**

 **Author's Note: Because I'm not a real Steven Universe fanfic writer until I create a Gemsona, am I right?**

 **...**

Your name is Smoke Quartz. Most gems like you have the luxury of calling themselves Smoky. They're bold and brave and in no way weak. Gems know they aren't to be trifled with.

You aren't like all the Smoky's. You do the closest you can to postulating and ask to be called Smoke, a stronger sounding name. No one ever seems to hear you.

* * *

Your form glitched as you rose from the dirt the first time, creating a face, and, then, upon realizing the wrongness of the proportions, created another one; your own.

It's small, malformed. Only unblinking eyes and a gaping mouth filled with sharp canines. A small tongue, tucked into the cheeks, slithers out here and there and lolls. You can't use it, but it's imprinted into your form; they tried, because accidents happen, but it's permanent. Stitched onto the left side of your face, on your forehead.

You're labeled defective, but functioning. At the best of times, you're little better than a Peridot- which is fine. Peridot's are a terrifying class of gems to begin with- and, at worst, you're underneath a Pearl. Like smoke, forgotten once they've gotten a whiff.

You wish you were a Pearl. Someone allowed to politely stand in a corner and stare into space so their masters' may show them off. It's true they're trophies, just like you, but at least they're _beautiful_ trophies.

* * *

Higher gems sought to take you in after your immediate sentencing to being crushed. They found your face horrifying, disturbing; a good show.

They let you live, but only as a toy. No gem is willing to trust a defect in battle; no one would ever lay down their life for you. Part of you- feral, violent, _wanting_ \- shrivels as though struck across the gem by the very thought of it.

But, to amuse crowds, you're perfect. Gems gather to laugh at you, inwardly relieved it was just you, just a quartz, that others like you are killed at creation.

They pass you around, like a Pearl running out of places to dance. When you're alone, you can curl up on the floor and listen to footsteps passing by. Never for you, never hoping to find _you_.

Your name is Smoky Quartz, the gem of two faces.

* * *

There are other defects, of course. It's never really _one_ thing. Gems simply prefer to focus on the most prominent.

You're not muscular; you're fat. Stretch marks wrinkle your arms and stomach, telling the tale of someone whose proportions never quite fit. Like a cookie cutter when the cookie dough overflows. You weren't designed this way, and it takes it toll on your form.

You only go up to the other Smoky Quartz's eyebrows; and just barely, at that. That little mistake can be overlooked with a sneer.

Your skin is the worst. You're supposed to follow a pattern, the shapes and shades of brown, but instead you're freestyle; a blot here, a splotch there. It all blends into mostly darker browns and light blacks, but the odd lighter stripe stretches its way across, especially across your belly. You're lucky your hair came out normal; a flowing dirt-colored mane.

It matches your eyes. All four of them.

You'd like to think your gem would have fit perfectly into the hollow of your throat, had the original face been the right size. You'd like to think you would be more confident, and less scared. You'd like to think a lot of things.

The size of an apple, your gem- mostly smooth; another defect- is crammed directly under your chin, almost oval-shaped and black as night. It's on the left side of your throat; an egg melded into your false skin.

* * *

You'd be the Gem of Two Faces, if anyone other than the odd group at a gathering saw you. No, you're the gem of two faces. Easily forgotten. Hardly a quartz at all.

They let you take on the bangs of a Sapphire, pulling them up to give the best shock. They make you show them, and bear their jumps and laughs and insults, without a word. You aren't allowed to fight. You don't like that.

They also let you shapeshift the prettiest of uniforms, and keep your hair clean and straightened, so your ugly face will give them the biggest sense of whiplash; from beauty to horror. You can almost like that.

You were brought out before or after The War- take your pick; you hate counting the years- and you remember those days with fondness. If only you had gotten the courage. If only.

(They let a Pearl fight and a fusion exist. Certainly they could have used you; you could jump out of places and made soldiers fall all over themselves. If only.

But they're dead now. All of them.)

* * *

Smoke is a deceiving name, because it can be ignored and distrusted, but it's also free to float up and disappear.

But you... you were never allowed to drift away and vanish. Perhaps you're better off as Smoky, after all. It's far less hopeful.

* * *

You wear a poofy blue gown- not your color type- and sit in a corner of a public meeting ground, hands limp by your sides. The master will be back soon, but it doesn't matter either way; you're just a little bit of fun, something they can lose without cause for alarm.

"Hey." A hand rests on your shoulder. It's big and wide, strong and powerful. "What _are_ you?"

Your lips pause. No one ever forbade you from talking, but what can you possibly say?

"Let me see your gem."

It's a gentle voice, and you bare your throat without thought. The change gives you the gift of looking at another gem. Orange registers in your eye, and your first thought is _Jasper_.

It's not. It's another orange quartz; Carnelian.

She lifts your chin higher with a big hand. "A Smoky Quartz?"

"Smoke." You mumble, head lowering. Your voice is tiny and meek. You're not sure if it's a defect as well. "I-I prefer Smoke."

"Smoke, then." Carnelian agrees. The simple right shocks you. "That doesn't look right."

You finger the dress. It's ugly, and you know ugly. "I like frilly things."

"Pearl things?" She prompts.

"Pearl things." You agree.

"That's fine, I guess, but you're not fit for duty."

You wet your mouth. The working one. "My duty is to frighten gems. Not fight."

The Carnelian pauses. "You don't seem like the frightening type."

"It's my face. I-It's ugly. Gems like to scream at it." You reach up to gather your bangs, with a sort of resigned solitude. "Here."

A strong hand grabbed her wrist. "Don't." She rumbled. "This conduct isn't fitting of a soldier."

You hug your belly, squishy and wrong.

"Where's your superior officer?"

"My... master?"

Carnelian begins to tremble with a dark sort of anger. "Yes." She grits out, taking in a sharp intake of breath. "Your master."

"I don't know. She told me she'd be back."

"Are you sure of that?"

You hesitantly shake you head. It's not the first time such a thing has happened; no gem goes unaccounted for, however, so you'll soon be reassigned. "She might be tired."

"Tired?"

"Of me. I'm useless, other than my face."

She sighs. It's deep and slow, and furious. "Let's go."

"Huh?"

She grimly dragged you to your feet, a meaty hand on your shoulder. "This is wrong. A quartz isn't made for this. It's dishonorable. I'll bring you to my squadron."

You jerk out of her grip, appalled. "I can't do that!"

Carnelian stared at you, all gloom and doom. She's obviously taken it personally. "Why not?"

You bite your lip, trying to decide the best way to express feelings you've never been asked to explain. "I'd be of no use to your squadron."

"You're a quartz. You'll be fine."

"A _defective_ quartz. Why else would I be out of here?"

Carnelian examines your features a long moment. "I figured as much. Honestly, I'm surprised they let a piece of work like you live, but, at the same time, you're a quartz; we're too stubborn to fall apart easily." It's two parts shame and pride.

You fiddle with your fingers as she flings an arm around you. She leads you away with her head high, and you wish, more than anything, that you could be half the gem she is.

"If you can't be a soldier, you can always be our mascot." She stated simply. "We'll make it work."

 **Author's Note: Smoke was created in such a way that she was damaged from the inside. It's not deadly, but she has a wide range of defects. The other stories I may/may not attach to her will be in third person, like usual. I just thought this would be a good way to introduce her!**

 **-Mandaree1**


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